Blood Stained Desert Rose
by halo fire
Summary: AU: Heero is the leader of a desert gang called the 'Gundams'. His whole world gets tossed around when a mysterious braided boy enters his life one day.
1. Chapter One

Blood Stained Desert Rose  
  
April 29 2001 - May 27 2001  
  
Gah. I have got to stop starting these things before I finish the others. Anyway, I might as well say right off the bat that this story is inspired by a lot of things. Some of them are "Mad Max" the movie with Mel Gibson, "Gone in 60 Seconds" the movie with Nicholas Cage and numerous others, but those are the main. I'll explain it now, so you don't get confused: This Gundam Wing, alternative universe fic is based in an apocalyptic version of our world. It's all desert, and the only transportation are dune buggies, cars, trucks, motorcycles and other all terrain vehicles. Dig? Okay, on with the story.  
  
Disclaimer : I. Own. Nothing.  
  
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It was hell. But it was home, and all they had.  
  
Never had `survival of the fittest' been in more play. Anyone who was weak enough to not be able to handle the style of living was left behind, or killed, if they were troublesome enough. Compassion and love for the fellow man didn't matter, and didn't help when the cold barrel of a pistol was pressed to your forehead. It wasn't surprising when your blood is dripping on the burning sand, and your best friend is riding off with your prized truck and your whore.  
  
Fortunately, Heero Yuy was one of those stronger people. With tanned skin, muscled body, disheveled hair and painted face, he rode the pure envy of a motorcycle through the wastelands of the Eastern `Sphere. He was so close to ruling it all, but not everyone was the Perfect Soldier he was, including the people in his gang. There were hundreds, but in the OZ group, there were thousands. His three captains, Chang Wufei, Trowa Barton, and Quatre Winner helped him guide the Gundams to near victory each time. However, he was fairly sure he could handle it all himself. Beneath his heartless, emotionless mask held a very cocky young man.  
  
No one quite knew why their gang was called the Gundams. It was quite the mystery, but no one really bothered to look into. All that mattered that was when one saw the priceless bike leading hundreds upon hundreds of warriors on all types of vehicles, they would run and scream in fear. And they did just that. There were stories, myths, but none of it was true. They were just tales conjured by other riders to satisfy the itch that is the unknown. Like religion.  
  
It was on a fairly particular day that this fairly particular story begins. Heero and a team of scouts were returning back to their base after a spying mission. Their headquarters was in the plain view, because there would be no threat to them at their safe base. To attack at the home would be such a dishonorable act that anyone would be able to destroy you, for you had just titled yourself scum of the Earth.  
  
Heero stared stone faced over the top of his cycle visor. They had discovered a fairly decent amount of information, and he was deeply contemplating it as he rode on. His dusty, dark hair whipped at his face in the wind as the cycle spat dust out of its backside at his fellows. So many things to think about, and nothing but the open desert before him.  
  
He flinched slightly and straightened up from the sitting position his craft was designed for. Had he just seen someone crawling about in the yard that sat beside their cleverly disguised, rackety building? And Howard's disgusting little freak of nature pet giant, man-eating Venus fly-trap blob of flesh wannabe was twitching rather hungrily at the form.  
  
Heero's perfect eyesight had never failed him, through every grain of sand whipped into his eyes. He sped on, leaving even more dust clouds in his wake. As he grew closer, he was sure that there was someone there. A young person, possibly his age of seventeen, with long hair, most likely a girl, was crawling on all fours, stumbling and half-standing, occasionally clutching their side and shuddering as waves of pain lanced through their body. Blood dripped on the sand behind them.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
Heero scowled at the creature as its amorphous body shot out and seized the form, sucking it into its own fleshiness. Damn, if that thing swallowed her up completely, there would be no rescue. She would suffocate, or worse. Turning his bike, and suddenly breaking, Heero vaulted over the ride and broke into a run to the yard. He skittered to a stop before Howard's beastly monstrosity, and sucked in his breath. A slim, pale arm was reaching out to him and the injured side was painfully visible, a maimed wound bleeding profusely. An angular, masculine face stared blankly at him, mouth whispering silent pleas and glazed, violet eyes begging.  
  
As the fleshy mass crawled over the now discovered boy's injury, his mouth widened in a soundless cry of pain. Suddenly realizing that his life depended upon his actions, Heero drew the gun he kept in a holster at his waist, and blasted the being once. The whole thing shuddered, but did not relieve its prize. Frowning, Heero shot the monster repeatedly. Once, twice, thrice, again, five times. It finally twitched violently and spat the boy out, crawling back into the shadows were it lived.  
  
Heero knelt down beside the boy, and turned him over carefully. His body was quavering, pallid form swathed in tattered black rags. His long brownish hair was so sand ridden that it would be quite impossible to tell what shade he was born with. His hand roved down the rawboned chest and peeled back the soaked cloths that covered the wound. It was atrociously grotesque, white bone peeking out among the fleshy tissue and muscle and crimson blood. He shook more as Heero touched the area and his hands felt out blindly, finally grasping the boy's vest and pulling himself close. He stared deep into the peculiar, blank amethyst eyes. That's when he realized what was wrong.  
  
He scooped the boy up in his arms, regardless of blood and shaking, which had increased even more as he had felt true, human body heat. Neatly kicking sand at Howard's pet as walked by, Heero strode hurriedly into the building. It was cool and dark inside, and the gang leader ignored the nosy inquires of his sudden charge. He wove his way through the bodies and forms scrawled through the safe-house, at last reaching the stainless steel infirmary where Sally Po was sending off a suposedly hurt Wufei.  
  
"Whoa, Heero. What happened?" The soldier scowled as he placed the twitching boy upon a steel operatating table. "He's got Gravy, Po." The woman's legs nearly buckled benaeath her as she discovered the victim's wound. "Oh my god... " Heero wrenched her away from it. "You've got to get him out of it, Sally. That can wait. It's absolute gurantee that if he doesn't lose it now, he's not going to live."  
  
Sally nodded understandingly and readied the injection. She checked his eyes, noting the near white color. A clear liquid exploded from the needle point as she tested it, and regarded Heero carefully. "You can't be too sure if this will work, Heero. If he's been under too long, he could be dead already." The leader urged her on with a steady glare. Sighing, Sally ran a finger down the boy's sinewy neck, selected a vein and injected the fluid into his bloodstream. Heero quickly held him down as his back started to arch off the table in agony, limbs twitching and struggling against the liquid that flowed through him.  
  
His fingers grasped the edges of the table as he continued to squirm, throat pulsating in struggled whines until a hoarse, drawn out moan finally escaped from slender lips. He collapsed onto the table in exhaustion. Blood continued to flood out upon the metallic surface, dripping upon the floor with macabre splats. Heero sighed, and let his hand slid off the boy's chest, watching it move with his uneven, labored breathing. His eyes traveled up and down the lithe, starved body, from the blood soaked shirt covered the rawboned chest, the flimsy, black pants barely covering long legs in their unsightly, tattered manner. The slender, bare arms and long fingers, and.. Heero paused for a moment, and gingerly lifted the boy's left arm. On the inside of the wrist were tattooed symbols: simple, bold numbers that read `02.'  
  
"Um... Heero?" Sally interrupted his thoughts suddenly, his head jerking up without warning for the confused, angry look in his blue eyes. He placed the arm back down. "He's bleeding all over everything. It might be a good idea to take care of that now." Heero flinched and looked down at himself for the first time during the ordeal. His own leathers were also clinging wetly to his body, making sickening squelching noises when he moved.  
  
"Maybe you should get cleaned up," she suggested. "I'll take care of this." Heero blew hair out of his face and nodded slightly. He walked backwards, keeping his eyes upon the still slightly shaking form. He bumped into the steel door, and opened it. Before he left, however, he poked his head back in. "Take good care of him, all right? Keep me posted." The door shut with a metallic ching.  
  
This had all happened before. Heero would occasionally find an injured pretty girl (or sometimes boy), and bring them back for Sally to fix up and make better. And afterwards, Heero would rock their world for a few days. And then they would either die somehow, or simply leave. The young soldier was not at all ashamed of his actions, and quite enjoyed it all. But this one, this one would be different. He was afraid to touch him like he had touched the others. Perhaps those lips would shatter if he pressed his own to them, and maybe that hair would crumble if he stroked the silken strands between his fingers. The boy was intriguing, and he just wanted to know. Those vacant violet eyes had drawn him in like a trap, and there was no getting out of it now.  
  
Heero pushed easily through the confused members of his gang, to the rackety staircase tucked into a corner that led up to his room. Sure, it was much more luxorious than all the others, but it being on the second floor made it all the more dangerous in case of an attack. He liked danger, and his crew found this somehow comforting. And he, of course, needed someplace special to court his lovers.  
  
He ended up scowling angrily as he found a long haired blonde laying luxuriously across his bed, in nothing but a nearly translucent white robe. She smirked and winked suggestively at him. He glared at her as he slipped off his black vest and tousled his hair.  
  
"Get the fuck out of my room, Relena."  
  
Her face fell as she heard his words, and watched him kick off his boots and heard towards the bathroom to get washed. "But... but.. "  
  
Unfortunately, Relena was the only one he regretted taking in. She was vaguely pretty when he found her lying unconsious in a base they were infiltrating, but he had tired quickly of her irritating personality and annoying infatuation with him. He had tossed her out within two days, but she had come back and refused to leave. Eventhough he had brought in many others since she had decided to stay, she sat firmly and shrugged them off as self-destructive soul searches. She pleaded with him to stop these stands, for they were supposedly `slowly killing him' and she somehow ended up laying half naked on his bed whenever he walked in. Like now.  
  
"Don't make me throw you out again. I'm sure that was rather humiliating." Relena leapt off the bed, starting towards the apprehensive gang leader. "But Heero!" Within a second, Heero had drawn his gun from the holster he had yet to remove, and had the pistol pressed against the woman's forehead.  
  
"I don't want to kill you, Relena. Really. Put if you utter one more word, I swear I'll blow your head off."  
  
She smiled softly and attempted to lean closer to him. "Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't do a thing like that to little m-." An icy click interrupted her as Heero ticked the safety off. For a brief moment, Heero saw complete fear in her eyes as she faced someone who would truly kill her. But she pasted on a nervous smile and backed away from him. The gun followed her as she left through the door, waving at him and smirking. She'd be back later.  
  
Heero groaned and tossed the gun onto the bed, which was usually hidden from the door by several folding paper screens. Stretching, he removed the holster off his hip and staggered into the bathroom.  
  
It was a relatively large affair, with a big rectangluar tub and shower built into two walls, taking up most of the space. A tarnished porcleian toliet and sink complete with medicine cabinet took up what was left.  
  
The gang leader walked over to the tub and twisted the faucets. Luke warm water poured out of the showerhead, steam slowly filling up the room. As the air grew stiff and warm, Heero peeled off his blood soaked pants and stepped into the water's path. It hammered against his lithe, musucular body, washing the boy's blood away into the drain. His head fell back, wetting his dark hair and face. Sharp pinpricks of water massaged his neck and back, rolling in waves down his torso and legs.  
  
He rubbed the back of his neck and blinked away the water from his Prussian eyes, and brought up his left arm. His slender, calloused fingers traced the boldly tattooed '01' on his wrist.  
  
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To be continued.  
  
Yeah, that's it. For now. Nice cliffhanger, eh? Anyway, go review! Reviews are not appreciated and asked for, they are DEMANDED. Now do your deed, petty servant! Bwah! Oo.. 


	2. Chapter Two

Blood Stained Desert Rose  
  
June 22 2001 - June 24 2001  
  
Look at that! Two days! I was dedicated. ::beams:: Anyway, no one will BELIEVE how hard it was for me to write this chapter. The first was a hit right away; one chapter and its already on more favorites lists than Koibito Hen, which is nine. Does anyone have an idea how difficult it is to live up to something like that? It's damn near impossible! But anyway, here's chapter two of Blood Stained Desert Rose, which is hopefully just has entertaining as chapter one. Thanks.  
  
Tomorrow's my birthday, for anyone curious. ^^  
  
Disclaimer : I. Own. Nothing.  
  
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Treize Khushrenada closed his eyes and sighed softly, listening to the barely audible yet irritating creak his reclining leather chair made. The somewhat comfortable piece of furniture had its back to the tarnished redwood desk, facing the bulletproof glass that probably wouldn't hold if a butterfly landed on it.  
  
This? They called this luxury? Of course, he couldn't blame some of them but his discomfort forced him to blame someone. Many of his OZ soldiers were young, and had been born into this life of poverty and battle. Luxury to them would be their own room with a bed that was only somewhat flea-ridden and cracked walls.  
  
Once upon a time, which was actually three hours ago, he had been in a private jet flying to a hotel suite to conduct a meeting discussing some factors of the desert wars going on. And, of course, some cruel fate had decided to have this private jet fly over a little desert dispute, get shot down by a missle and force the General to make a very undignified leap. However lucky or unlucky he had been, he landed near a base that supported the OZ Faction and had been taken care of. Meaning, being stuffed into this room they dared to call /luxorious/.  
  
Sighing again, Trieze pivoted the chair, picking up a slightly cracked wine glass from the desk. As expected, the crystal was dusted in filthy specks with more in the sickly sweet, burgandy liquid. Disgusted, and barely repressing the urge to toss the insult at the nearest wall, he slammed the cup on the wooden surface, adding another crack into the spiderweb of glass. A sharp knock frin the door added to the echoes the gesture had caused. Quickly running a hand over his chestnut hair and straightening his jacket, he answered the knock with a voice that skillfully masked his fury.  
  
In walked a tall young man with long white-blonde hair and shocking ice-blue eyes, both of which caught Mr. Khushrenada by surprise. How could such a lovely creature survive in this hellhole most called a life? Of course, Trieze wasn't widely known for his lusty observations, however often he made them. But, in these cold eyes he saw barely contained rage and jealousy, which put a slightly amused smirk on his face. This wasn't quite the reaction the young man had been hoping for, apparently, for he stiffened and balled his fists tighter.  
  
"General Khushrenada," the man said in a tight voice, bowing with respect that was obviously forced. "We weren't expecting you."  
  
"I know," Trieze replied with a dry chuckle, folding his gloved fingers neatly in his lap. "I wasn't expecting this little visit either. Hopefully it will be temporary."  
  
The General noticed the man's lips tremble slightly, and could hear the faint whistle of breath that came with talking. Straining his ears, he heard a sharp string of obsencities emitting from those fine lips. Before Trieze could comment, the man went on.  
  
"I am Zechs Marquise, current leader of the Eastern Sphere OZ Group. Since you are leader of OZ itself, perhaps you'd like to take command while you are here?" Zechs's words were strained, slight hesitations on every syllable.  
  
To satisfy his need to let out a hysterical bark of laughter, Trieze gave another dry chuckle and stood. He was the taller than Zechs, which seemed to infuriate the tall blonde further. "Actually, yes. I think I would."  
  
Trieze missed the rest of Mr. Marquise's shocked look when he turned around to face the window. "Well, I suppose I should inform you of the current events, then," Zechs replied in a slightly shaking voice.  
  
"The second best group in the Eastern Sphere is a group called the Gundams. Their headquarters are in the southwest, which we cannot attack directly because of an unsaid rule that goes among all of the Spheres. Their leader is a young man known as Heero Yuy; he has three captains known as Chang Wufei, Quatre Winner and Trowa Barton. Their skill improves will every attack on us, and we have reason to believe that eventually they will overtake us.  
  
"What you ran into was an attack on us by the Gundams. They were provoking us into a battle, and we attempted to attack them but they fled before we could hit them. They do that often."  
  
Zechs was about to continue, but Treize broke him off. "It's all about the war tatics, Zechs. Most likely, your ideas are all wrong. We can discuss those later." The General looked over his shoulder. "Is there anything else, Lightning Count?"  
  
It looked as if Zechs was about to fall over when Trieze had used his nickname, but he stuttered a bit and answered the question. "One of our group was captured about a week ago by the Gundams. I met her and tried to bring her back, but she doesn't seem to want to leave. She's a blabbermouth and might let something slip about our plans."  
  
The faint, embarrased blush that passed over Zechs's face made certain that this girl was either his lover or some part of his family. "Make an offer she can't refuse, even if it involves decieving her. And if she gives something up," Trieze gave a little malicious smirk that was hidden behind his broad shoulder, "find her, and kill her."  
  
Zechs took a surprised step back, which he feinted as taking his dismissal. The door shut with a soft click. The tall blonde leaned against the wall opposite the door, clenched fist banging the paint which chipped off and fell to the floor. He hunched his shoulders angrily and stomped off down the hall, absently rubbing his left arm, which lifted the silken sleeve to expose the boldly tattooed 'zero six' on his wrist.  
  
Back in the small room, Trieze put his elbows on the desk's surface, running his fingers through his slick hair. The gesture tugged at his jacket, lowering the sleeves to show off the tattooed number thirteen on his left wrist to his closed eyes.  
  
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To Heero Yuy, it had been the most nerve-wracking day in his life. Every time he had tried to enter the infirmary, Sally had shoved him out and told him that they were still operating on the nameless boy. He had already done every possible thing to calm his jumping nerves. He had even given in to listening to one of Wufei's justice rants, something he knew less than shit about and still preached about it like he invented it himself.  
  
At the moment, Heero stared blankly up at the dim, barely white-washed ceiling. Wufei's speech was no longer an annoying chant in his ears; it had lowered to a dull roar like that of a river miles away, and with the sudden changes in pitch and flow, it could actually be called a jerky symphony of shit. But shit was shit, no matter what form its molded into, including lousy justice rants, therefore Heero was about to get up and do something he had probably already done a million times over during the course of the day.  
  
The young leader was only just breaking himself out of the blank trance that he had created to block out Wufei's voice when something broke through it for him. The unmistakable sound of a motorcycle engine, at least three of them about a mile away. Suddenly alert, Heero leapt up and tugged at a cord that hung from the ceiling. A ladder dropped out, and he thundered upon it with cat-like grace. The attic-icky area was small, and one had to crouch in an awkward position to get even remotely comfortable. A pair of Prussian blue orbs stared out through one of the many thin slats cut into the wall; not too far away was a dusty yellow cloud thundering towards him. Thrusted above the mobile dust was a flag on a long metal pole; the flag held their gang insignia, moving in jerky motions that would take years of practice to duplicate.  
  
The taunting army was home.  
  
Heero squat-walked to the left edge of the attic, pushing out a panel and immeditately grasping a metal pole. He fell out, eyes closed momentarily until they adjusted to the sudden change from stuffy darkness to bright, hot sunlight. Feet braced against the side of the building, one hand gripping the metal pole and other sheilding his beloved eyes from the sun, Heero peered out into the desert.  
  
Eventually the fog of heat and sand fell away, revealing three motorcycles and a jeep. Driving the jeap was blond captain Quatre, with three other nameless soldiers, one waving the flag. In the motorcycles were two more soldiers and obvious lover to Quatre, captain Trowa. Heero let go of the pole and fell, knocking the panel shut and rising his own little cloud of dust. Ignoring the sneeze that threatened to rise up in him, he waved the dust away from his face and strode foreward.  
  
"Heero!" Quatre shouted from the jeep. "Bad news! Very bad news!"  
  
"What is it?" came the young man's reply as the vehicles stopped by the yard where Heero stood. Howard's pet had not forgotten the lesson it had learned earlier in the day and stayed back in the shadows of its dark shithouse.  
  
The blond Arabian jumped down from the driver's seat, rubbing sand out of his hair as he spoke, "Trieze is in town."  
  
"Khushrenada?" came Heero's shocked reply. Sure, the bastard ran the whole OZ show but he didn't get his elegant little hands dirty hanging down in the Spheres.  
  
Trowa watched as the soldiers pulled open the hidden driveway into the garage beneath their safehouse, leading their vehicles down the wide passageway. "It didn't look like he came on purpose. His jet was shot down while we were over at the OZ base," explained the tall brunette.  
  
Heero muttered an obscenity, raking his fingers through his unruly hair. "All right, all right. We need to talk about this." He chewed on his lip for a second. Quatre and Trowa paused, waiting expectantly for their leader's answer.  
  
"Okay," Heero finally annouced, rubbing his hands together. "Be underground in ten." And with that, he went back inside, the door clicking shut behind him. Quatre wrapped an arm around the taller man's waist, tugging at his sleeves and Trowa's clothes to reveal the '03' and '04' tattooes on their left wrists.  
  
"Well, shit," the blond captain murmured at the door. When an animalistic shriek emitted from the oversized pet house and a little corner of pink flesh showed itself from the tattered wood, the young couple hurried back inside.  
  
Heero squeezed himself through the crowds in the main level of their safehouse. The rickety building was only a hangout; the real thing was beneath it, all cool metal and authority and business, with scents of oil and steel and gas and dirt and manly musk that sent all too many into bouts of frenzied lust, sometimes by themselves and sometimes with each other.  
  
Just one more check on Kid No-name, and he'd head Underground to worry about this Treize matter. Sighing softly, he pushed his weight against the heavy metal door and found himself surprised when there was no reistance. Stumbling in, Heero saw Sally washing her hands off in a sink, her four or five helpers fanning themselves off.  
  
"Oh, Heero," said she, when she had turned around and noticed him. She wore pale blue scrubs, most of which were covered in blood. She freed her blond hair of the elastic cap, gesturing towards the slightly covered form on the table. "We're all done here. The operation was sucessful, and surprisingly, his injuries weren't that bad. I'm assuming you'd like to take him to some more ... comfortable conditions?" She looked at him with a sly, somewhat disapproving smile on her face.  
  
Narrowing his eyes, the fearless leader strode over to the operating table. The boy's body had been stripped of his tattered rags and he was slightly damp from being cleaned of blood. Bandages looped his torso, which Heero noticed looked more toned when it didn't include a gaping, bloody hole, and more covering smaller wounds throughout his body. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, chest moving at a normal rate and heart-shaped face calm.  
  
"Actually, I think I would," replied the young soldier, with as much sharpness as he could add to his voice. Covering the slight, wiry body in the sheet he was covered with, Heero scooped the boy up in his arms, careful not to jostle him too much. Sally only gave a small laugh and waved him on. He acknowledged her with a curt nod and left.  
  
The crowds parted when he left the infirmary, somewhat to his dismay. If he had given a fiercer glare to anyone else, his eyes might've fallen out. It seemed like a million mile walk to his staircase, but he eventually reached it. Relena sat on a couch tucked into a corner, and her jaw dropped when she saw her hopeful lover approaching the steps she sat before. Before she could move, Heero dared her to do something with his eyes and she sat still.  
  
When he had entered, he shut the door with his foot. Walking quickly to his large bed, skirting the paper screens he had replaced, Heero manuevered a way to hold the boy while peeling back the covers of his bed. He tucked the stranger beneath the layers of cotton and silk, swiftly removing the paper sheet he had come with. He looked away, avoiding altogether the battle of trying not to blush when the slim nakedness flashed before his eyes.  
  
The boy immediately made himself comfortable, even in his sleep. Curling up into a tight little ball, head barely touching the pillow with braid splayed out over several others. A small smirk tugged at Heero's lips, and he stroked the boy's cheek as if to coax him out. His body twitched and began to react, and before he could draw back in the slight horror he suddenly felt, the boy leaned into his touch. A slight flush appeared over those slender cheeks, and his mouth parted slightly.  
  
Heero's breath caught tight in his chest, and he traced the lines of the boy's face, his touch becoming vague and distant. A finely-boned hand reached up and touched his own, and those soft brown lashes fluttered and opened to reveal the violet stones beneath.  
  
  
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To be continued.  
  
Pweh. Well, there it is. Hope it lived up to all of your expectations. Review me, petty servants, and tell me what you think! Bwah! ^^ 


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